


The red chain

by lakeflower



Category: Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Blood and Gore, Consensual Violence, F/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeflower/pseuds/lakeflower
Summary: Cynthia and Cyrus have a date in the Distortion World.
Relationships: Akagi | Cyrus/Shirona | Cynthia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The red chain

**Author's Note:**

> Attempt at something casual and ambiguous (Cynthia and Cyrus are in an stable relationship).

Cynthia walks through the Distortion World, checking her pockets. Good, it's still there. This time she brings something, a gift of some sort. The irregular structure and lighting of the void disorient her, but she keeps moving forward. Searching for Cyrus. He said that he'd be waiting her, somewhere in this special place.

She contemplates the flowers that grow out of chunks of ground. They don't even need a substitute for photosynthesis, immortal as they are. If one were to cut them they'd just regenerate themselves, rebuilding their cells from the nothingness. A strange property of the place, considering this is the home of antimatter itself. Giratina must be the only being who gets to decide what definitely lives or exists in its realm.

She wanders and wanders, until she finds a secluded new area. The floating platforms are arranged like a set of stairs, one forming a big balcony at the top. She ascends (or descends, impossible to know for sure) the platforms, and finds who she was looking for.

“You're finally here” Cyrus says as he finishes contemplating the abyss, greeting his visitor.

“Sorry I'm late. For a second I thought I was lost!” Cynthia explains.

“It's fine. I'm actually surprised you found me so quickly” Cyrus says. “How have you been?”

“I've been doing rather well. I managed to finish that report about the Celestic ruins. I also got to visit Floaroma town the other day...it was beautiful. I feel a little lonely without you around, though” Cynthia says, remembering what happened through the week.

“Don't worry. I'll be back home soon. Maybe tomorrow” Cyrus says, smiling softly.

He notices something in Cynthia's pockets, igniting his curiosity. Long and pointy, like a dagger. But the form doesn't have a handle. It can't be a stone either. A tooth maybe. “Is that a dragon fang?” he asks, pointing to the outlined object.

“Yes, yes it is” Cynthia says as she reveals the fang from her pocket, handing it to Cyrus. “I found it near the ruins when I was making the report. Garchomp doesn't need it, but I think we can make good use of it.”

Cyrus examines the dragon-type move boosting object, carefully holding it. Jagged but clean, a little heavy. One of the ends looks sharp. Far more stylish than any other knife he's seen. A natural work of art. “It is truly an honor. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, and I'm glad you like it. I also sharpened it before I got here” Cynthia says happily. “Shall we get started, then?”

Cyrus stares at the fang for a few seconds. The anticipation is unbearable. “Yes” he says, returning the fang to Cynthia.

She walks towards him, half leaning against him. One hand is on his shoulder while the other grasps the blunt end of the fang. He lifts the lower part of his shirt, exposing his belly. She stares intensely, her gaze going from his ribs to his hips.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Yes.”

And in one swift move she stabs him, a stream of blood spraying her.

Cyrus gasps at the sudden , stinging pain that pierces him. The pain becomes increasingly stronger as the fang is dragged across his belly, one long vertical line opening him. Proud with the incision, Cynthia puts her hands in the wound, tearing apart the flaps of soft tissue. She withdraws the fang, and takes a moment to admire the exposed inner organs in front of her. She begins to massage his intestines.

Her touch is soft but precise, her fingertips sending waves of pleasure trough his nerves. There is tenderness and care in every stroke, rub, and caress. A kindness reserved for him. It makes him feel like the most loved being in existence, to be explored and handled with such gentleness. Of course, she always has that effect on him. It just becomes even clearer now. Bleeding, eviscerated, open, and if it weren't for the rules of this void, dying. And in all that fragility that he is, she loves him.

At first, he thought that it was what he deserved. To suffer and to die. But he has changed, and so have his views on the need of punishment. He can't die here, so pain isn't a burden. It is a way to verify perception, and a way to show his affection. An honesty he confides to her. Touching him connects her onto truth, his vitality. He hums softly in delight, guiding her moves. Making her heart swell with happiness. She is a pillar of hope, finding beauty in everything. And in all the artistry that she is, he loves her.

“I just love it here” Cynthia says, thankful for the privacy of the place. “So peaceful and quiet.”

Cyrus agrees. “It is. Giratina has exceptionally good taste when it comes to atmosphere” he says, admiring the swirling dark colors that form the sky. “Sometimes I hear the waterfalls in the distance. They make interesting melody. Do you think Giratina is fond of music?”

“Maybe. I wouldn't be surprised...” Cynthia says. Suddenly, she gets reminded of something. “I forgot to tell you, I've been playing the piano lately.”

“Really? I would love to hear you play” Cyrus says.

“Believe me, you wouldn't. It sounds awful” Cynthia chuckles, remembering her attempts at playing. So many flat notes, being a beginner shouldn't be an excuse for making something so tinnitus worthy.

“Good or not, I would still like it” Cyrus says, smiling warmly.

“Hmm. Alright” Cynthia smirks. “ But only if you sing along!”

“Oh, now _that _would be awful...” Cyrus laughs.__

____

____

“Come on! Remember that time at the lake? An entire flock of murkrows came to sit with us just to hear what you where singing. You're a star!” Cynthia says, burying her fingers deeper into Cyrus' guts in enthusiasm.

“Alright, alright, fine. We will make a great band” Cyrus says.

They joke and laugh for a while longer, also forming some original song lyrics. Then they go back to the soothing silence.

She starts to knead, her arms forming slow, steady patterns. Feeling every single twist and turn, the humid texture of his intestines getting imprinted in her senses. The strange lighting of the place makes the bowels shine in shades of purples, blues and pinks. Glittering like nebulae in the universe that he is.

Cynthia janks a part of the small intestine, to which Cyrus moans in surprise (but not at all in discomfort), sending blood everywhere. She holds it, fully appreciating the slipperiness of the organ's strand. She starts to massage it, revolting it between the rest of the digestive system. Squeezing it just feels incredibly satisfying. She pulls a part of the big intestine this time, entangling it with the rest of the unsorted mess of intestines hanging from Cyrus' abdominal cavity.

She rubs in everything together in an delicate rhythm, her torso getting covered in blood as she leans onto him. Almost like dancing. He stares at her with those deep cold eyes of his, making her feel warm. Colorful insides framing him, intricate rings around a complex system. He's gorgeous.

“You feel so good” Cynthia purrs, much to Cyrus' delight.

Her hands take a firm hold of one of the hanging intestines, and the pain explodes.

“A little lower, please” Cyrus says softly. Cynthia obliges.

He sinks into the ecstasy of the ache, sometimes moaning at the mixture of pain and pleasure that encases him. She moves with that signature elegance of hers, confident and tenacious. Graceful as the refreshing wind of the distorted wonderland. She is beautiful.

“Cynthia...” Cyrus whispers as he holds Cynthia's hand, pulling her closer to him.

She reads his mind. Their lips lock in one long, deep kiss.

His fingers card trough her hair, his other hand still holding hers. Her free hand cups his face, smearing blood on his cheek. They close their eyes, encased in their shared warmth. Everything is just a blur of colors and blood and textures, their senses overwhelmed by pleasure. Their heartbeats quicken as adrenaline rushes trough their veins.

In this moment, just the two of them exist. Strengthening the depth of their love, getting lost in each other.

They break the kiss, returning to reality as they open their eyes. Their bodies calm down, pulses returning to their normal pace and their grip on each other loosening.

Lightheadedness hits Cyrus like Giratina itself. The constant loss and regeneration of blood finally starts to tire him. “Can we sit? I am tired” he asks softly.

“Sure” Cynthia replies, disconnecting herself from Cyrus. She helps him sit down, so he doesn't trip on the big puddle of blood.

Sometimes it feels hard to imagine life without her. It's a shame that they got reunited so late, when living meant nothing and his mind couldn't comprehend forgiveness. But he wouldn't trade it for the world. Getting to spend the rest of his life with her is worth everything. And he will forever be grateful for that.

Cyrus wraps his arms around Cynthia, hugging her. Like she might disappear and dissipate with the air at any moment. Cynthia rubs slow circles in his back.

“I'm here” she says.

“I know” he says. “I love you, Cynthia.”

“I love you too.”

Cyrus' loosens his grip, his limbs feeling too heavy. Cynthia untangles herself from him.

“Just lie down. Relax”

Cyrus lays on his back, bathing himself even more in blood. Cynthia kneels, her thighs straddling Cyrus' waist.

Everything is fading to black, but he he has nothing to worry about. The cracked, dusty, bloody pink ground is refreshing. Warm insides spilled everywhere, being gently massaged. He couldn't be more comfortable.

He looks up, his eyes barely able to focus. She is indefinite, but real. Her hair falls, forming an strange halo around her. A kind gaze stares down at him.

“You are so beautiful” he says, placing one of his hands on top of hers.

“Oh, my love...” she says, gently caressing his hand.

Cyrus closes his eyes as he slips into unconsciousness.

She sighs, softly massaging for a few minutes. She closes her eyes, satisfied. Meditating, relaxation seeping into her. Glad to be and feel alive, getting to experience so much beauty with the one she loves so dearly.

“Cyrus...” Cynthia says, opening her eyes. “Cyrus?”

She places a hand on his rib cage, checking his pulse. He is asleep. Carefully, she unmounts him, and lays next to him. The slow rising and falling of his chest puts her at ease. Stabilizes her, grounds her onto reality. Their shared, beautiful reality.

She nestles closer to him, closing her eyes as she falls into a deep slumber. Joining him in sweet dreams.


End file.
